Rag and Bone
by Juh Lupin
Summary: A pack of cigarettes and a disconcerted world.


**Rag and bone**

Smoke always seemed to liquefy his lungs and dismantle his throat. It moved with delicacy down his chest, warm and tender, truculent and putrid. He knew it was a supine death, which was surprisingly all he wanted to escape from. Remus once told him he had destructive manners, a fixation for what was ephemeral that explained his nearly deadly actions. But that came right in the way of his fear of the finitude of life, so he turned out to be paradoxical. Gripping onto threads of hope while searching for the pound's ground by jumping into it.

Truly, he didn't think much of those. Past years had been horrific and would not concede philosophical moments afar from the war. He had enough preoccupations, being a member of the Order, and could not fill his mind with what he classified as "silliness".

He was sitting on the doorway stair of McGonagall's house. They were holding the Order meetings there until Dumbledore discovered somewhere safer. Such task was not easy, nor would it be fast: Dumbledore still had Hogwarts settling his mind. But the professor's house was allegedly a better choice than the options they were faced with. The rooms were not huge, but carried great luminosity provided by large windows and their disposition on them. During the day that should be pleasant, however it turned to be a problem for the nocturnal meetings of the Order. Someone, probably McGonagall herself as she was an impressive pragmatic problem solver, had installed thick, heavy curtains replacing the previous translucent ones.

"Running away from us with a pack of cigarettes in hand, aren't you?" a voice taunted him, finick clear in its tone. "Why do you insist in having all the fun for yourself?"

"If I smoked inside Lily would kick my ass until I was out here. Just eased the task for her," Sirius smirked at the woman standing beside him.

Dorcas Meadows resembled nothing what she used to be. Her hair was pinned up in a hairdo, disheveled. Her cheeks were acute, her bones apparent under her thin layer of skin, as if the flesh surrounding them was vanishing slowly. The shadows under her eyes were profound remarks of the sleep she was neglecting herself, bordering opaque optics. Her dress was baggy over her body, the straps frequently sliding from her shoulders.

"I'll accept," she sat next to him and he narrowed his eyes, uncertain of what she meant. "The cigarette. I'll accept the one you'll offer me."

As it collided with his teeth, his laugh resembled a bark - and it usually did. Dorcas could not remember if there was a time when it did not sounded like it, and would have found weird if there was: that was already part of him. He handed her a new cigarette, lightning it for her after she took it.

"Never knew you smoked," Sirius granted after a moment of silence.

Dorcas shrugged, analyzing the thin stick in her fingers, "I never smoked the muggle ones before. How did you ever get to these things?"

"I talk to Lily, you know?" Sirius replied.

Dorcas lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. Sirius noticed it gave her a malevolent look, her eyes glowing icily and her mouth corners curving upwards sternly. She beared heaviness and he wondered whatever it was the order gave her as an assailment. It was consuming her, Sirius could tell, but that was happening to each and every one of the members.

"Honestly, she talks a lot about the non-wizard world. She was the one that started me on the motorcycle addiction", Sirius said, ignoring his previous thoughts.

Dorcas looked away, licking her lips before answering. "She knows you a lot, doesn't she?" Sirius looked dazzled, not gripping the subtle meaning of her words once again. "I'm sure she is certain that whatever bad thing she mentions to you is something you'll look after to try out. I guess she tries to keep you from doing it in a way that might kill you, guiding you through it."

Sirius stared at her hands for a while, considering her words. Lily definitely disliked his smoking, his flying motorcycle, his night escapades with James. The last one concerned more about her husband than himself, but the red head had some worries on him too. She did not try to stop him from doing any of those, she had given that up when they were in Hogwarts. But Dorcas was right. Lily had given him advices he would not dare to ignore. "She's the keeper of us all," Sirius finally agreed.

Dorcas smile faded rapidly. "She can't protect us. Worrying this way about others… It's dangerous."

She inhaled the smoke, and Sirius noticed for the first time that there were bruises on her arms. They continued over her neck and descended down her legs. There were also cuts on their way to cicatrize, but they were new, nevertheless. It seemed she had been beaten ruthlessly, tortured at least. Despair flooded his blood, and Sirius felt shock spread gooseflesh over his skin.

"What are they doing to you?" Sirius asked in a raspy voice.

Dumbledore had to know about her wounds, and still seemed not to care. From what Sirius had heard, her task was one of the most dangerous and whoever had a glimpse of what it was did not mentioned to the others. That they let her continue with it in the state she was at was beginning to enrage him. Dorcas seemed fragile and weak to do anything that was not related to rest.

"It's necessary, Sirius," Dorcas replied. Locking eyes with him, it was palpable the fear sipping from her stare. "Please, do not… I'll be okay."

"If you're not killed first."

She sighed. "Yes, if I'm not killed first."

Sirius grabbed her hand, cocooning it in his own. Dorcas was a friend he came to worry about too much lately. This was the first time he had seen her in almost ten months and it could not have been in a worse situation. Her disintegration wrapped him around hateful thoughts. Sirius was faced with death and violence since his childhood, but the levels the war was reaching drowned him under fearfulness. Dorcas was the symbol of it all.

When Voldemort's ascension was at its beginning they were frightened sixteen year-old teenagers. They were now twenty two, yet too young to be dealing with everything they were handed and with fewer options to choose from when it concerned their future. Impelled to mature quickly, they had not considered what had been lost, nor did they wanted to do that: it was not the time. But he knew they would have to deal with the demands reserved to them faster than was desired, when time came.

"Tell me," Sirius pleaded. She simply looked away, taking her hand from his and having the grayish smoke in her mouth again.

"I can't. The fewer the people with this knowledge, the better," she answered him. Frustrated, and acknowledging she would not give anything more, he lifted himself while throwing his cigarette on the floor.

"We should get inside."

Dorcas agreed and got up. Sirius was already making his way towards the door when he felt her hand in his elbow. He turned to her and realized her cheeks were wet. Sirius did not need anything else to justify why his arms closed around her. She only let her tears roll down her face and into his jacket, as he kissed her forehead more than once. She was not going to weep; it was not her to do so.

"Why?" Sirius asked her when she let him go. It was a question about nothing at all and everything. There was no subject, just generality.

"I don't know," Dorcas breathed in slowly. She always had the answer to those questions, or an idea of what the answer may be. But that was all she had to give to him now, and she entered the house without looking back.


End file.
